Seattle Symphony Thrives with Classic and Modern Musicality

Since the dawn of humanity, music has been a vital condition for what it means to be human. From animal skin drums crafted by the neolithic people to every instrument which has followed since, we as a species have sought to give voice to the parts of us words cannot express. We danced to communicate emotion and what little understanding we had of the world. We sang wordlessly long before language bound us to its form. We made music: The thump of the drum like a heartbeat, the trill of the flute like hope, and the deep drawl of the cello like despair.

It’s no wonder, then, why people still flock to the symphony. Benaroya Hall, home to the Seattle Symphony, stands as one of the city’s great harbors to this quest of humanity. In architecture alone, it offers a modern regality. Its magnificent organ glitters along the upstage wall, and the audience sits intimately gathered, flanked overhead by unique, cubistic box seats. Warm lighting illuminates the players, framing the stage in hues of pink and blue.

Seattle Symphony’s Septembr 21, 2024 concert: Ravel & Shostakovich / Seattle Symphony

On September 21’s performance of Ravel & Shostakovich featuring Bertrand Chamayou, audience members shuffled in and settled down with a murmur of conversation bearing resemblance to the cacophony of the tuning orchestra. Just as the single harmonious note brought sudden order to the musicians, so too did the dimming light bring quiet to the crowd.

The first composition of the night was one by Pierre Boulez: Livre Pour Cordes, or Book for Strings. It carried an almost avant-garde approach. A style which, despite being a product of the ‘modern’ age, has grown quite outdated and no less obscure to the current ear than it was when it was founded. Nonetheless, I found this piece wielded a sinister sort of beauty, with patches of discordant sound bridged by the elongated wail or fluttering of a single, high string. It was a familiar dance between the bustling chaos of living and the sweet, if lonesome, moments of solitude between.

Livre Pour Cordes was followed by a stunning composition by Maurice Ravel. Concerto in D Major for Piano (Left Hand Alone) and Orchestra. This piece’s gravelly, bass-laced opening took shape in a slow, rumbling build, which reached its zenith in a dramatic flare. Horns blared, strings sang with triumph, and the orchestra for a moment was unified by a singular motif.

Then suddenly, there was silence. A pause, and a piano note that spoke, in its simplistic deliverance, of brutality. In this moment, I knew Ravel’s composition would be the strongest piece of the evening. Ravel, in his brilliance, had mastered an idea his contemporaries had only begun to toy with. Modern dancer Martha Graham called it “Contraction and Release”: an idea where tension is built, either in the contraction of muscles or the buildup of notes, and it holds, lingering just long enough to make the audience long for release. Then it breaks, sometimes to silence, sometimes to an easeful flow of soft movements or notes which carry the audience gently out of the abrupt quiet.

It is a breath. A chance for the audience to regather themselves after the tension breaks, and it provides the scales of balance upon which emotional dynamic relies on. There is power in silence when put against the roaring crescendo, just as there is power in joy when put against heartache. Life, and thus art, requires both elements to reflect humanity in its truest form.

Unlike Boulez, however, Ravel did not try to break entirely away from the old romantics, nor did he succumb entirely to the modern movement. Rather, he fused both eras together, maintaining the boldness of the modern age while also gifting his composition with a narrative quality, taking audiences through melancholy, victory, playfulness, and anxiety. It seemed the favored performance of the evening by all, receiving multiple standing ovations and lengthy applause.

Lastly, the symphony presented a more traditional musical suite by Dimitri Shostakovich: Symphony No. 8 in C minor, Op. 65. In a series of five movements, the music told a story of war with a more romantic era sound than Ravel’s piece had, and it suffered for it. It lacked the emotional depth brought out in the dynamic changes Ravel so mastered. While it thrived in its grande moments, it withered in the moments between, which seemed glued together with a constant rumble or soft murmur of sound. It never solidified the necessary tension in its large moments, and never gave way to silence, perpetually afraid to truly pause and reflect on the notes that led up to each moment (excluding the few pauses between distinct movements within the suite, which petered softly into existence and failed to tear sound asunder with silence).

It did not lack dynamic entirely, however. Only, rather than the sweeping of a pendulum between tension and release, it was more like the ebb and flow of the sea. Sometimes dark and dreary, sometimes power hungry, sometimes still and glassy. The former two feelings were brought about in movements of soldier-like marches: quick, high flight-of-the-bees-esque staccato rhythms with thumping accents of the lower strings, and powerful battle cadences with blasting crescendos.

My favorite of all was a movement that leapt from section to section within the orchestra. Violins to bass to drums to horns. It utilized the movement qualities of sound as a director would utilize stage directions or as a magician would utilize their white-tipped wand, guiding the eye to specific points of the stage and keeping the viewer enraptured. The latter feeling was achieved with soft strings and slow melodies. Peaceful, but altogether too long. In those moments, attention spans wavered. Guests fidgeted, checked the time, and waited for the piece and the night to end. And at last, it did, with a distorted return to the original movement’s themes. The same, yet changed, in true hero’s journey fashion.

Overall, the night was a success. Its curation allowed for representation of the tastes of all, a modern piece and a romantic piece bookending either side of a concert which successfully married both styles. To all the performers, I say well done, and thank you for preserving the music and all the aspects of humanity it represents.